Good Romance

Good Romance

Now, forget Gaga (who is no lady, by the way) with her Bad Romance. Our romance was good. The best. The real McCoy.

It was me and my keyboard. All day, Every day.

It was steamy and hot. Almost all we ever imagined it would be. You were sweet and gentle and you smelled so good – you know how I love it when one smells divine? You rocked my world. But like every romance, it has to come to an end. Call it the ‘children checking in and messing up everything’. These ‘children’ come with responsibilities, you know. Or it could very possibly be the pressure that comes with ‘tying nuptials’. Once you say ‘I do’ romance is thrown to the curb, innit? Not that it’s a rule, but it happens, right? Maybe it’s the ‘unrealistic expectations’. Or maybe we could call it ‘kujiachilia’. Or heck, all the above! Let’s just blame all these for the end of our good (so Good!) romance.

The flowers. The chocolates. It gets tiresome at some point? The opening of car doors even when I have two functional hands that can do the job easily. And much faster – I’mma be straight witchu so work with me.

Can you imagine, me staying put and waiting for you to go round (All the way round) the car so that you could come and open the door for me? You realize that it would save us more time if I had got the door myself, don’t you? I promise you, my bones wouldn’t break. I promise you that my (fragile) hand can handle opening of doors. But romance is a complicated affair. And I am not one to ruin romantic moments, so I sat there. And waited. As you opened your door, I waited. As you banged it shut. I waited. As you made your way around the car, I stayed put. Waiting. I even attempted a smile to mask how helpless I felt. When you eventually got to my door (and this took a while longer because you ignored the formula C = πD and chose to go round the back of the car instead of coming round the front!) I sat up, seat belt unhooked. I waited in anticipation. Any minute now. Aaaany minute now. The moment would come. That door would be flung open and I would get out and exclaim with glee “Free at last!” Really. It felt like eons in there. Just waiting to have my car door opened. And maybe to cause me further anguish, you tried to open the damn door and it did not budge. I looked up. You looked down at me. I touched the glass window (why was it rolled up anyway? To further confine me?) We looked at each other. I was your Rose who needed rescuing. You, my Jack. Oh Jack! I parted my lips. I need you, I said with my eyes. Get me out of this car, my prince charming! Oh Cinderella (don’t ask, just go with the flow) you said with your eyes. It’s you! My Cinderella! You said. I have your other glass slipper. I just need you to come out and try it on. What, you didn’t believe it was me? You thought I was a fraud? That I had to wear a stupid slipper to prove that I was your Cinderella? Didn’t you realize that this wasn’t about the slipper, but the wearer of the slipper? Do you not know people? At all? How do you ask Cinderella to prove that she is Cinderella? Tsk! Anyway, where was I…my prince! My door won’t budge! You need to open the door for me, romance dictates. You try it again. Nothing. I can’t take this confinement anymore. Open the door, open the door! Open the damn door! You try again. Harder this time. Nothing. You are getting frustrated. You wonder why…then you see the problem. You signal me to pull up the door lock. Dummy! I do pull up the lock. You try the handle again and the door finally opens! I jump out of the car “Free at last! Free. At. Last!” Martin understood this feeling.

As if that wasn’t enough drama, you had to open the doors to every building we went. You stood up each time I had to go to the ladies. You even did a kasmall bowing ‘thing’ for your lady, gentleman. Woe unto you when I had a running stomach and you had to stand up every five minutes. You insisted on whispering sweet nothings into my ear and paying excessive attention to me.

Tell me if this isn’t Romantic! Seriously. Feel free to tell me if it isn’t.

I had a different version of romance though; I was doing exclusively something that I love VERY much. I would wake up in the morning and start writing. How romantic!

Oh, well. The romance is over now; get paid for writing or find something else to do. All the factors that mess up romance are now on board ya’ll.

Haaa…but the romance was good now, wasn’t it? The way I ran my fingers lingeringly over the sexy keyboard. The feeling of the machine’s curves fitting perfectly into my hands. How I tapped the keyboard ever so lightly at first then harder as we got to the thick of it how I immersed myself completely giving it my all holding nothing back how it pleasured me how it always ended well. SIGH!

It. Was. Good.

Yet given a do over I wouldn’t change anything for the world.

Le struggle is real amigos.


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